Wednesday, July 4, 2007 - Independance Day

Wednesday, July 4, 2007. Happy Independence Day! And in San Fran, it was a glorious day, the weather even better than yesterday. Wow, I’m getting a suntan in what was foretold as a cool, wet, foggy destination. We start off slow, with lots of coffee, a little reading, and a refrain of “What shall we do today?” As always, eating comes to mind, so we checked out our list of untried places, and gave a ring to Yank Sing, touted as the best dim sum restaurant in town. Seat us at 12:30? You bet. It’s at 49 Stevenson Street, and as I discovered, it’s one of those “You can’t get there from here” places. With the top down on the poney, and the golden oldies blaring on FM, we made one circle of streets after another, until we finally found the short little stretch of Stevenson Street, one way, barely more than an alley, that held Yank Sing. One illegal parking place later, and we were in. As the pictures will show, this was a real treat - and another, and yet another. We were seated at a white covered table, porcelain plate, teacup and spoon, chopsticks, linen napkins, and then bombarded with passing carts laden with baskets of steamed dumplings, trays of skewered various bits and pieces, things battered and braised, whole fish, whole ducks, slivers of each. Well, before we could learn to say “NO” in Chinese, our table was full of shrimp dumplings, Shanghai Pork Dumplings (the secret is the spoonful of broth added to the dumpling just before the wonton is pinched shut and cooked), shrimp toast, stuffed mushrooms (with what? I never could understand), chicken spring rolls, slices of Peking duck, sauted green beans, all washed down with Jasmine tea and Pellagrino, followed by a bowl of cool Mango custard topped with a ripe, sweet strawberry. Were we full? Did we waddle? It was great stuff, lovely room, fast and friendly service. Don’t miss it, and they are only open from 11 'til 3, so you can only stuff yourself for 4 hours a day. I wanted some pictures of the world’s crookedest street, so off we drove (yes, the Mustang was still there, and, no, not a ticket to be seen) to Lombard Street, via Market to Larkin. A sunny day, a full tummy, a hot woman and a cool car. Life is good. We cruised down Lombard (with a steady stream of other touristas), then wended our way towards the Golden Gate Bridge, looking for a route up to the heights on the city side of the bridge. After bearing persistently west, we found the Presidio, and the Holacoast Memorial along the high ground, great views, first of the bay and “gate”, then, as we swung south, of the Pacific. After a stop or two for some “ooh, ahh” looks, we ended up down at Point Lobos, where we had dined our first night in town, Saturday, at Sutro’s at the Cliff House. In the dark that night, I had not even seen the beach, but there it was, hugely broad, and a couple of miles long. The beach highway and the beach itself are completely undeveloped, not a commercial building or sign to be seen. All development stops from about a quarter mile inland out to the water, with natural seascapes of dunes, grasses and brush. Quite pretty, very unlike any beaches I have visited anywhere else in the country. We next returned to Golden Gate Park, as Dee was feeling botanical, and wanted to tour the Conservatory of Flowers. The park was teeming with folks enjoying the combination of both holiday and glorious weather, but the park is so big the crowds just weren’t a problem. Families were picnicking, playing ball, throwing frisbees, and couples were, um, wrestling or something like that. We parked a short walk from the Conservatory, and as we strolled through shadowed glens along a pond filled with ducks and turtles, I dropped bread crumbs so as to be able to find our way back to the car.

Yank Sing - dim sum

Lombard Street

Presidio, skyline drive, Holacost Memorial

Beach Highway

Golden Gate Park - Conservatory of flowers

dinner from David’s deli

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbCbRdy0FGw


Golden Gate Bridge

Muir Woods redwoods

Muir Beach Overlook

Stinson Beach

Golden Gate Park - Japanese Tea Garden

Monday, Monday

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7KrlDZ5Hkw

Scott had to return to Monterey this morning for class. Fortunately, a classmate had spent the weekend in San Francisco, and was driving him back. He had schoolwork to do, so I let Dee sleep while I had my coffee, read the local papers, and chatted with the hotel staff.

Sunday, July 1, 2007 - A day of rest?

We began our day with breakfast at Lefty O'Douls, an eatery with pub style located about a block up Geary Street from the Warwick. The joint honors a famous(?) major league baseball player, native of San Francisco, a player of the era of Babe Ruth and later greats.

Saturday 6-30-2007, San Francisco here we come

Saturday dawned clear and bright. We have a skylight in our room at the Old Monterey Inn, so waking was easy. I was up about 6:30, before the coffee is ready, so I took the Mustang out for some exercise. Down to the harbor, found some coffee, then cruised the waterfront while Monterey woke up. Back to the Inn, read the paper in the garden. The flowers are happy, the birds are singing, Scooter Libby is happy, the world is right. Dee joined me at 9, and our breakfast was served in the garden. We had the place to ourselves, as everyone else slept in. The lady serving us joined us, at my request, for a cup of coffee and a chat. She is from Indonesia, Jakarta, and has been in the states for 8 years. The world seems so much smaller when you travel, and this morning was no exception. Breakfast was started with fresh squeezed OJ with thin slices of banana, a ramekin of honey poached pears and berries with a granola crust, and a small casserole of "Eggs Buenas Dias", a mixture of egg, corn, chilis, cheese. Well fed, we packed the 'Stang and headed to Scott's apartment. He was actually awake and ready to go, so, top down and tank full, we headed to 101 South and San Francisco. It was about 10:30. The drive, in daylight this trip unlike our late arrival Thursday, was through vast fields of garlic, orchards of cherries, and fields of artichokes. The fields were being worked by some of those immigrants who have been at the head of recent political discussions in Washington. I didn't see lines of Anglos waiting for a chance to pick, weed and hoe. WScott's puperb mapreading skills, we pulled in front of the Warwick Regis Hotel at about 12:45 (http://www.warwicksf.com/), dropped our bags and the car, and headed up Geary Street to Union Square. What a cool place! Huge public square, lots of places to sit, fountains, folks playing music, and, yes, panhandlers (can I say "bums"?) We wandered up Stockton into Chinatown, and selected R.G. Restaurant at the corner of Kearny and Commerce for a late lunch. Scott ordered for us, and chatted with the waiters. Unlike our favorite Chinese restaurant at home, the owners, cooks and waiters here are actually Chinese. Dee and I started with hot and sour soup, and shared an order of beef and chicken skewers. Scott had an order of kung poa chicken. He eats just like a Chinaman, stuffing his rice into his mouth with the chopsticks as fast as he can. No one left hungry. We next walked up to California Street, and took the cable car down to the Embarcadero, the waterfront. A lesson was learned. The $5 ticket for the cable car is good for one way only, no matter how short the ride. Ours was maybe two blocks. A lesson learned hard is a lesson learned well. The Ferry Building is just below California Street, and is now filled with speciality shops and restaurants.

Our first day in Monterey

Well, Thursday night we had arrived at the Old Monterey Inn (oddly enough, in Monterey) after almost being sabotaged by American Airlines. It is a lovely place, . Friday morning peered through our open windows (no air conditioning here, but the night air was cool and sweet) at 6 for me (already 8 for you central time readers). Since Dee refused to ride from San Francisco to Monterey with the top down last night, I decided to give the Mustang a little exercise with the lid down. Too early for coffee at the Inn, so I cruised to the harbor front and found a 24 hour service station (service? I don’t think so). The convenience store fulfilled my expectations, and, despite the language barrier (no, not Russian), I had my coffee. I drove slowly along Lighthouse Boulevard, along the waterfront, past Lighthouse Park, the boat harbor, local Fisherman’s Wharf, Cannery Row. There were kayakers gearing up, scuba divers assembling with their wetsuits and tanks, tai chi exercisers, and bums (not politically correct, but the word I know).
Knowing that breakfast at the inn was at 9, I decided to see if Scott was awake yet, with the plan of inviting him to join us at the Inn for some non-microwaved food. I found his apartment, called him on his cell, and woke him up, but he seemed happy enough at the prospect of a meal, so he was out to the car in 4 minutes, fully dressed if not fully awake. We cruised back toward the Inn, and discussed our mutual admiration of the Mustang. My first car ever was a 1967 Mustang, hardtop, three speed manual, a meager 6 cylinder engine, canary yellow, and the coolest thing I had ever imagined. And my parents bought it for me when I was just 16, but we lived in South Carolina then, and I had my license since I was a mature 14. Makes you shudder just to think of 14 year olds added to our already dangerous traffic mix. Anyway, I am seriously contemplating buying another one, a subconscious return to those adolescent days? We pulled into the parking area at the Inn, and I took Scott to our room, where Dee was thrilled to see him. We had a lovely breakfast of fresh squeezed OJ, coffee, fresh fruit cups, and French Toast sprinkled with powdered sugar and topped with a citrus syrup. Dee and I dropped Scott at his apartment, as he had studying and class on his schedule. Dee and I headed towards Carmel, top down, Dee bundled in three layers of sweaters, jackets and head scarf. We took the famous (at least locally) 17 mile drive, which takes you past the prettiest coastal views and scenery, famous landmarks and golf courses, and multi, multi million dollar houses. We stopped frequently along the way, and took pictures of rocks, waves, birds, trees, sea otters, and other things worth flying across the country to see. We ended up in Carmel, with Dee eagerly scanning the people we passed for a glimpse of Clint Eastwood. Carmel is very pretty, flowers everywhere. Yes, a tourist town, but at least its classy as it sells you. After strolling and window shopping for nothing at all, we picked a restaurant, Anton & Michel’s, on Mission between Ocean and 7th. It had an interesting menu, but a truly wonderful courtyard with fountains and flowers. We dined in the courtyard. French onion soup, wild mushroom ravioli, and a creme broule’ for me, tiger prawn salad for Dee. We chatted with an artist eager to sell her works, Dee wandered through shops filled with shoes, boots, and $250 blouses. We walked into a little hidden mall (what is a better word? It was lots of shops on three levels, small quaint, but still a mall). I had coffee and read the Carmel real estate listings. We didn’t qualify to buy a FEMA trailer here. Over lunch, we had decided on the Mission Ranch for dinner with Scott (Clint Eastwood owns it, maybe part of Dee’s decision process?), so I wanted to make sure I could find it when we returned that evening. We found the Mission Ranch, a lovely former working ranch nestled below the hills of Carmel, on a small bay. The ranch buildings now house a small hotel, reception and meeting rooms, and a rustic restaurant, which does not take reservations. Live music, and the chance to see owner Clint make it a very popular spot. Eastwood bought the ranch, lock, stock and barrel, to keep developers from purchasing it and turning the spot into condos, preserving one of the last underdeveloped pieces of ground in the area. We drove back to Monterey (only about 10 minutes from Carmel) and relaxed in the gardens at the Old Monterey Inn until we could fetch Scott, who doesn't get home from school until about 6:30 each day. We picked him up a little after 7, and met his "land ladies" while there. They have been very nice to Scott, cooking him a meal or two, and giving him the use of one of their bicycles while he is in school. He rides down hill, walks up, but swears by the end of term, he will be riding both ways. Anyway, off we went to Carmel, down to the Mission Ranch. We watched the sun set while Dee looked for Clint. We had a great meal, prime rib for Dee and me, and "surf and turf" lobster tail and filet mingon for Scott (heh, Dad's paying, right?) while Dee looked for Clint. We finally got our picture with Clint, see our picture site for proof. All full and content, we motored back to Monterey, persuaded Scott to spend the weekend in San Francisco with us, dropped him off, and retired to our Inn for the night.

The beginning we didn't plan

Our journey began as many others, an early morning alarm sounding after we were already awake. The coffee pot was full, the dog was ready for her walk, our bags were packed. After our finals chores, off we headed to the New Orleans Airport. I was proudly holding our boarding passes for our American Airlines flights, having checked in online and printed them from the comfort of my easy chair. We needed only to arrive at curbside, unload and check our bags, park the Suburban, and head straight through security to our departure gate. Yet, that is not how it worked. The trip to New Orleans was uneventful, but as we pulled up to the American Airlines curbside check in counter, I sensed something amiss in the posture and attitude of the skycaps. They told us all AA FLIGHTS HAD BEEN CANCELLED because of weather in Dallas-Ft. Worth! I took a deep breath, and tipped them to help with the bags so Dee could get in the 300 person line at the AA counter while I dialed AA on my cellphone. The computer voice told me how glad it was we had chosen American, and please hold for 30 minutes. I held as I parked the truck in the long term lot, held as I walked through the garage, held as I crossed to the terminal, and held as I returned to curbside. I could see Dee in the line inside, a very, very long line. Finally, a cheery young woman named Wanda took my call. She confirmed all AA flights out of New Orleans through DFW were indeed cancelled for the day. Worse yet, they were completely full for Friday. Continental was not taking their tickets for rebooked flights. Maybe Delta. And so, we were rebooked on Delta for Friday at 7:20 am. It was now Thursday at 8:45 am, our travel day. I got Dee out of line, and we moved to the Delta counter. Dee sat in the lobby with the bags, and I waited in hopes of confirming our new Friday travel plans and actually getting our Delta tickets in my hands. The Delta lady, K. Singleton, could not have been nicer. First, she could not find us in her computer system. Then, she did. Then, she asked with raised eyebrows, if we wouldn’t prefer to travel to San Francisco TODAY? Well, gosh, that would be OK, seeing as here we are, bags all packed, car parked, hotels reserved, etc. So, Delta was ready when we were. We got out of NO at 12:45, went through (you guessed it, Atlanta) and arrived in SF at 8 pm, about 6 hours later than expected, but we got there. After picking up our too cool Mustang convertible, we ambled on down to Monterey, and got to our Inn at 11 pm Pacific time. Only a 19 ½ hour travel day from alarm clock to beddy-bye in the Old Monterey Inn. We count our blessings.